Risen
by Creejak
Summary: Thoughts, musings, tales, and emotions, all building up over the course of ten years and then some…It’s enough to drive a man crazy. Some drabbles from the crew under Barbossa. Comments and critique welcome.
1. Too Many Times

Risen

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Summary: Thoughts, musings, tales, and emotions, all building up over the course of ten years and then some…It's enough to drive a man crazy. Some drabbles from the crew under Barbossa. 

Disclaimer: POTC and all characters save for my OCs belong to Da Mouse, and Disney. I do not claim them, I merely borrow them from they're comfortable life-styles in the Archives.

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I never told you what I did for a living. -MCR

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"_And it was **you** who sent Bootstrap to the depths!"_

Mallot

Too many Times

Occasionally, we'd run into each other, and that was never really a good thing. It usually ended up with us two fucking, but that always had to be proceeded by the bitch trying to kill me. It wasn't a tedious relationship; we just hated each other, yet used each other for the same purpose.

Survival.

I didn't need her, even then. I had my brother, and he'd die for family, so it was fine. Still, I enjoyed her company after we made up and she took her knives back and I put my hammer away. She could be quite pleasant, every now and then. Our fighting protected us from each other; we grew eager for it, anticipating the next row, and long for the apologies, and so we never really meant to kill…just hurt. Hurt each other as hard and as deep as we possibly could.

We'd fight a lot; every time we saw each other, our first reaction was to reach for a weapon. We'd have to be torn apart by her father's sailors, and Grapple, who simply couldn't understand how two people who detested each other so much could make love twenty minutes later. Grapple would always say, "One day, yore going to figure out you've played that game one too many times." I'd smirk, because I didn't understand.

Then I got shot, and it was her fault. She hadn't even pulled the trigger let alone held the gun, but it was her fault. She knew it, too, and felt guilty. Partially jealous, as well; she wanted to be the one to send to bullet into me. I took my precious time about getting better; it was a week before I finally got sick of lying down and got up, but I fell over; I didn't try again for another month. Finally she got sick of it, and came into my room, yelling and swearing at me. She was crying, though, and I smirked because I didn't understand.

When I was walking again, and fine as if nothing had happened, I realized I had been with her for a while. Or relationship was on and off, of course; our paths would part, and we'd run into each other sooner or later…but this time, we'd stayed by each other's side for months, and hadn't fought since I'd been hurt. I didn't know why or how that was possible, but I knew she realized it as well. When we held each other that night, I smirked because I didn't understand.

We parted again a while later; Grapple and I went off to crew under Jack Sparrow. Then Barbossa came along, convinced us all to throw away the bird. Grapple shook his head when it was all over and stayed a fair distance from the captain unless he had too. I would shrug it off, figure he was home sick because of his Sara and little ones. But then I started to do that, and I missed her. We went to the island, stole the gold, and went home. I saw her again, and we fought, and we fucked, and I left.

We were cursed; we'd pissed the Aztec gods off, and we were completely naïve to their warnings. Days, followed by months, followed by a few years went by. Slowly, one by one it seemed, we got the coins back, and then I heard one of mine calling. We followed it to a small island, and I saw her again. She was on her daddy's ship, gathering supplies; the privateer that had rescued Grapple and myself after we had been marooned, years ago; it had been my fault, and I knew it. I hadn't done anything, though, but I couldn't prove it.

We argued, in front of everybody, we went at each other and eventually it got worse. From words, we went to striking at each other, and I slapped her across the face so hard it sent her flying back. I took the coin, and left her there on the beach with the few bits of her father's crew that remained. I even let her pa live.

The Pearl destroyed her daddy's ship so they couldn't leave. It was ironic; I left her to the fate that she had rescued me from. The rest of them, the rest of those who were cursed, didn't get why I left her alive when there lingered the possibility she could escape; I smirked, because I understood.

When it was all over…when my brother and I realized we were drowning, we were no longer immortal but dying, we eventually got off La isla de la Muerte and found ourselves on a tiny little piece of land, an island in the middle of the ocean. We were still going to die.

A ship came by, and I saw her again. We didn't fight; the desire in her to bicker with me was gone, but she still wanted me to die. Yet we just faced each other, and finally I asked her why she bothered to save me after I left her to her death, and she started screaming, yelling and swearing at me, and she was crying.

We stayed together; we're still together. I won't let her go, and she won't let me. We played that game one too many times, and I don't understand it.


	2. Toasty

Risen

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Summary: Thoughts, musings, tales, and emotions, all building up over the course of ten years and then some…It's enough to drive a man crazy. Some drabbles from the crew under Barbossa. 

Disclaimer: POTC and all characters save for my OCs belong to Da Mouse, and Disney. I do not claim them, I merely borrow them from they're comfortable life-styles in the Archives.

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Fire. -Scooter

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_"H-he-Hello..."  
And William Turner looked on in confusion at the man whose back had housed his killing hatchet just prior to their second encounter._

Jacoby

Toasty

I like fire. I can't help it, for it is not my fault; rather, it was how I was born, and it was built into me by the divine. I have no choice but comply with its whims and wants. Even when the coins call to me, I am called by the cackle of the flames; they are both loud, both made by things mortal beings can not fathom.

_They_ could not fathom. Where I was raised, they never understood. They drove me off, forced me into piracy; I was to be a merchant. Ironic, no? Now I rob those whose place I would have stood in.

The first building had been old, anyways; it would have collapsed any day. I merely dropped the torch and sped the process of decay up, forcing it to move on. The fires tasted the ancient wood and stone, and devoured them. I stood in awe of what I had done; it had been an accident, at the time, but I later realized that He had planned for my epiphany. Watching the glow, the embers, the sparks rise up with the spoke and eat away at the weak…

I had to grace more with His divine gift of scorch. Most people fear burning alive; even I did, once upon a time. He made me see, allowed me the knowledge. I even brag about it; Pride is a sin, but I was blessed, and the greed from the coins encourages me. One day, maybe, I will fend them off, fight the flames of voracity the Aztecs scald me with, but for now…for now I relish the burns left behind.

The second building was a man's home; he had five wives, and almost countless children. He had stolen from my father, and had been judged innocent. I did not understand this; I still do not. I poured the oils, said a prayer, and allowed the spark from my flint to dance itself into a frenzy.

Thirteen people perished, including two from the small hut beside the thief's home. They are martyrs; they died so that justice may live on.

I was given the gift to bestow forgiveness; my fire would bring with it the knowledge of what the so-called innocent had done. The liars! They lied so hard they believed it themselves, and the signs told the justices what went through the minds of such swine; false images, false truths.

Building after building, person after person, until it came to a lowly whore. She was half dead already, signs of being choked glowing around her neck. I took an incense wedge from my beard and placed it upon her stomach, the fabric catching soon after. She was a lowlife, and would go to Hell; by showing her sins, I thought she would repent. And then, as I walked away, I heard her scream, and another woman rushed form the shadows. She saw me, and I saw her, and we parted ways instantly at a run.

I was reported, but I would not face trial; society saw my blessings as crimes, regardless that He had given me such a gift. Even if the signs said I was innocent, they would prosecute me privately.

I left; I did not retreat, though. I merely sought out a new place to spread my gift, to educate those that did not appreciate what He had given them; choice. The option to do good, to elect beauty and the divine over hideous evil and the iwicked/i fires of His nemesis.

Once the curse had finished, I shall burn some of the bodies upon this ship. They do not understand their sins. Yet they will repent; His fires will make them see, and He will let me light them.


	3. My Dear Sister

Risen

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Lonely Day - System of a Down

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_You brought us here for nothing!_

Twigg

My Dear Sister

The dawns never quite broke the same after she left the first time. Sure, they were still colourful, and people would mention them lightly in casual conversation over tea, but I had to have her with me to see such beauty as was described…She'd be in my arms, preferably.

It was normal for our class to do that; no one admitted it, though, which I had found odd. I'd laugh at being able to call my father my cousin. When I was a child, it had been the most amusing thing at my disposal, but it earned me quite a few scowls and snaps. Nobody seemed to enjoy the joke but the small eight year old pest running loose on the estate.

Well, save for Annabelle. She was my nanny, looking after me for my mother would not…also a custom of my culture, if one could call it that. She was the great grand-daughter of some slaves brought back from Africa, and wasn't afraid to talk about her heritage; if anything, she encouraged us children, black and white, to listen, and to remember. It was important to her, and I never understood why until years later when it struck me that I had forgotten why poor Annabella had died.

She, not Annabelle, would have known. If I had been able to ask her, she would have been able to tell me, but I left that life behind years and years ago. Well, years ago at least. Two decades, maybe. She's dead, anyhow, my dear sister. Died when she fell off her horse; the beast got spooked by a snake when we were trotting by. It took off with her on it, and stumbled. Crushed her beneath it and dragged her before her foot finally came out of the stirrup.

I won't ride horses anymore, for the record.

Everyone said she wouldn't pull through, but I refused to believe that. You see, she survived the accident long enough for me to bring her home, back to the plantation. The doctor was shocked she had made it that far, but I wasn't. She had always been strong, by dear sister. She clung to me tightly, in her last moments. It was our last time together, and I had to share it with our parents and some servants; I was twenty at the time, and refused to believe my love, my dear sister, was going to die. They had to drag me out of the room, force me to leave her body on the bed where we'd spent many nights together.

When we were little, before she died, my dear sister and I would sit at the table and let Annabelle sing to us while she gave us these tasty little pieces of candies that I can't even remember what they were called, it seems like so long ago. She'd talk about how we were going to grow up and carry on our family's business, and I'd have to marry some little virgin from another rich family, and my dear sister would be married off. It wasn't to scare us, but to prepare us. My dear sister, she and I would scoff and promise never to get married, and Annabelle would laugh and we'd laugh too but not understand why she was laughing.

One day, Annabelle was gone. She had tucked us in the night before, and when I look back on it, I remember her being highly agitated. She said goodnight, and seemed about to cry, but she left and ignored our questions of what was wrong, and my dear sister and I spoke about it until we both fell asleep. When he woke up the next morning, Annabelle wasn't only gone, but she was dead. Our father, well, he apparently got Annabelle pregnant, which I didn't understand at the time because I was simply too young. Annabelle had been married and had a son somewhere in the southern waters; her husband and child had been sold, but that didn't matter to me. I didn't get why Annabelle being pregnant was so bad 'for the family name'.

My dear sister, though, she was older than me by a few years. She understood; she wouldn't speak to our father, and he threatened her to stay silent to mother as well. I don't know how she found out, but my dear sister did. She was clever like that.

After she died, it all came back to me. I had forgotten why Annabelle had been hanged, what was to become of me, what would have happened. I would have married her, if she hadn't died. It was normal for our class to do that, and I would have. I couldn't handle the grief, I guess, and so I left. I left, and I wandered around until I joined the King's navy under a false name, just for something to do.

My ship got to the Caribbean, and I left. I left the navy permanently, and I went looking for some form of consolation. I found it in the form of a man who sat right beside me and without a how-do-you-do launched into a conversation. It didn't matter that he was black; his confidence was just astounding, and it sounded as if he'd just learned English. We got to talking, about our pasts, what we were doing in that port, where we were headed…

He spoke of his great grand-mother, who had been taken to the Americas, and how he was going to see about finding some relatives. For a fleeting moment, I thought of Annabelle, but his girl came by. She was pretty and I missed my dear sister when I saw this other woman. I left the bar, and a few weeks later found myself in Tortuga. I ran into the man again, and as it turns out, he was a pirate.  
No wonder his confidence.

I joined up on his ship, and we became close friends. Still, whenever he talks about his woman, I miss my dear sister. But she's dead, and so am I inside, and until my body finds rest, we'll never talk again.

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Kilala81- Thank you so much for your comment! I'm glad you like the story, and even more so that you appreciate the effort.

Kalimac- Merci beaucoup! You've no idea how much your comment is appreciated! It encouraged me to write another chapter (even though it took a while! Aheh!) I'm pleased that you understand what I'm trying to do with the chapters; what emotions and feelings I'm trying to convey. glee

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Author's Notes: Sorry this one took so much time. I also apologize that it got rushed near the ending. I had a bit of a writer's block, but still wanted to finish the chapter.


	4. Fair Thee Well

Risen

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Summary: Thoughts, musings, tales, and emotions, all building up over the course of ten years and then some…It's enough to drive a man crazy. Some drabbles from the crew under Barbossa.

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Disclaimer: POTC and all characters save for my OCs belong to Da Mouse, and Disney. I do not claim them, I merely borrow them from they're comfortable life-styles in the Archives. 

The Way - Fastball

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"_Say Goodbye!"_

_Then the cannonball crashed into the sign, and William Turner was saved by fate as he felt the grip clutching him loosen, allowing him to duck and watch as his would-be murderer was thrown back through the glass windowpane without so much as a curse._

"_Goodbye!"

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_

_­_Grapple

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Fair thee Well aka Pain Killer

Shh…it'll all be over soon. It hurts, you see. It always has. It mauled me right at the beginning, and it'll still hurt right to the end. It won't be long, though, not now.

Somebody please put me down…let me sleep…

But they won't. Hear me out? Of course; you have no choice. I'll kill you after, though. Can't have my brother finding out I told some stranger about my voluntary woes when I don't even speak to him about it.  
S'not fair, you see. Not to him, nor to you. I don't want you to bear the burden. Mind you, I never wanted to either, but…It came up so suddenly, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I am…so sorry, really, but if anyone finds out I let you go…well, actually, nothing will change. I'm the quiet one. I fight, I win, I remain stoic, and strong, and wise. Never complains, Grapple…

I have so much to say, though, but it's so bothersome to muster the effort.

I've become…content in my misery, I suppose. But you won't; you may turn away, even, which is fine. It's sick, I'm sick, and I like it like that. It's disgusting; I hate it.

I _want_ to hurt, and I want to die in agony. I…don't remember anything else, hm. Not much, at least. For a fleeting moment in my life, I was happy. I wasn't numb and I could find the strength to smile. Not any more; I'm too tired. I just want it to end and I _want to die._ You recoiled…fear? Hush, now, don't strain. It's better this way, for both of us.

I once had a family, too, you know, before this curse; not even gods are capable of stopping the pain, of letting me rest. My children don't even remember me, and what they do know of me is helped along by their grandparents. It's not their fault; the blame lies entirely upon me. I let their mother die. Sara, she…she was mine, and I let her die. I let her go, I let her rest, but I was hasty. I didn't want to see her suffer, and because of my mercy I _let her be killed_!

Shut up, shut up…Shh, shh, s'all right, s'okay, it'll be over soon. I'm not angry at you, mate, I'm just…I'm just angry. Sit down, sit back down, please. I need you to hear this. You need to know. You need to know so this will all end and I can go.

When my Sara, my beloved, my…mine. She was mine. No. No, that's not even right. Naw… I was hers; I belonged to her. I've been lost since she died, eh. She was so beautiful, and I should never have been so lucky, but I was, and we were one. Nearly killed me, though. You looked surprise….ah, naw, s'all right. Not many people get to see me smile, let alone laugh. One of the few, mate, that's what you are. Like me, you've fought your last fight. Yah, you never heard? I was a fighter here in Tortuga. Since I got back, I've fought a few times. S'one of the rare pleasures in my life…aheh. Aw, no, aheheh…I enjoy inflicting pain.

Ironic, isn't it?

Like I was saying, when my wife, when she died, I got…what's a good word…crushed? Brutalized. It killed me in all but body. I never quite got over it, and because of that, I hurt all the time. Mallot took me on a ship, said I just needed to feel the salt water and wind, and I'd feel a bit better after a while. I said goodbye to my ankle-biters, and I left everything behind me…I didn't think it'd be for so long. What was supposed to be my painkiller just poisoned me and made it worse. It burned so viciously, and wouldn't let me bleed to drain the pressure. I'm sure demons got to bleed more than me, when they clawed and bite and tried to drag me down but...I couldn't be killed because of Sparrow, and because of Barbossa, and because of Mallot, and _because I was so bloody god-damned fucking stupid!_

No, no, please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, don't yell, don't scream…Don't claw at yourself, don't bite, it'll only make things worse, you're going to have suffered enough by the time we're through. You're not that old, are you? Naw, can't be more than thirty-five. Hard life, though, eh, mate? You look worn, strained. You've worried too much over everything, hm…I've done that. I've punished myself for so long and I can't let it go, and it's hurt. Everything…hurts. Everything just hurts.

Please, somebody put me down…

We're almost done. I promise. I know, you're hurting, you're scared, you're worried; everything will be all right in a few moments. Just…hush…You were a good father. A good husband. You were loved, and you don't have to do this. Everything will end, though, and they can move on.  
Shut up, shut up, I don't want to, not yet, I'm not ready, they won't understand…

Ah, yeah. They _won't_ understand, no. But, maybe, they will. Later on, I mean. Mallot knows how much I've suffered, how much it hurts. Sara's parents, Molly, Alan, they see it. They've seen the changes; they've seen me grow up from a boy to a man. My children, my little darlings, they…they're too young, and they won't like it. Jamie, he's my boy, you know…he tries to be like me. I hope he never does it; I don't want him to hurt for the rest of his life. And Alice! Little Alice, I've already destroyed her, letting her mother die, and then going away. I was never there when she was growing up; she won't talk, eh, not a ruddy single word, not a sound, not to anyone…and it's entirely my fault.

It's my fault…it's all my fault…

I've never cried before. Not really. I held her, Sara, and sobbed into her, and that was it. I didn't even let myself do it for very long; everyone wanted to say good bye, something that I've never personally liked. I've kissed Alice good night, I've given Jamie his hug and tucked him in, I've had my drink with my brother… But you…you're special. I'll say good bye to you, and I promise; these tears, they're real. I'm crying for you. You hurt, just like me.

You're in pain…

We're…

I am.

The metal feels cold; s'nice. Cooling. I like the cold, it feels refreshing, it feels…relieving.  
Somebody put me down…  
Hush, now. Shh, s'all right. It's over now. Everything is fine. It's all turned out for the best. It's all alright.

_The gun fired, and the pain ended. Mallot found him sitting in a chair with scratched arms and blood under his fingernails. The pressure was drained when his blood was finally allowed to spill. _

_He no longer hurt, Grapple._

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Author's Notes:  
My my, it has been a _while_, eh! Sorry for the wait! But, ah, I kind of misplaced my muse and only just found it again. Turns out misery is quite a sociable thing. 

**Kalimac**: I always enjoy your reviews. I am so very glad you enjoyed Twigg's story, and yes; I will be covering that 'area' when I touch Bo'Sun's story, as well as Koehler's. As for Master Twigg, his chapter, of course, won't be the last we hear of him; Koehler still has to step up to the plate, and Twigg will, naturally,guest-star.

**Kilala81**: Good luck. Really; I'm cheering for you.


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